


The Alcmene Analogue

by Ironlawyer



Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Impersonation, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:02:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironlawyer/pseuds/Ironlawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season one final.  When 'Steve' sets his eye on Tony, Tony thinks his life couldn’t get any better.  Except things don’t go quite as he imagined them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/3266.html?thread=2252226#t2252226) prompt on Avengerkink.

It’s two days after the fight against Loki. They’re sparing. Steve flips Tony, pins him down and suddenly they’re kissing. To Tony, it comes as a total surprise. A very, very good surprise, but an ‘oh my god, never imagined this would actually happen’ surprise nonetheless. Things happen so fast it’s dizzying. One minute they’re fighting and the next Tony’s pants are tangled round his ankles and Steve’s moaning in his ear. It’s over almost before he registers it’s begun. 

His heart is beating so fast he can hear it and feel it thrumming through his whole body. Between heavy breaths he struggles to form coherent words. ‘God,’ he says eventually, ‘that was so good.’ It’s a rather inadequate response, but his mind’s still struggling to catch up with his body. He’s actually pretty proud that he manages more than a groan.

Steve’s answering smirk is infuriatingly smug but it’s Steve, so Tony lets it pass (besides, Tony’s never been fond of throwing stones and he’s just about preening with self-satisfaction right now). ‘We should do this again sometime,’ Tony says, mind now sufficiently caught up enough to attempt intelligible speech.

‘Maybe.’ And for a moment Tony’s chest flutters with disappointment, sure that Steve’s about to tell him this was a mistake. ‘But away from the cameras next time?’

Tony’s eyes shoot up to the security camera in the corner of the room - it’s trained right on them. Tony had completely forgotten it existed. The things Steve does to his mind would be disturbing if he could bring himself to care. He winks at Steve. ‘Think I’ll keep today's tape for my private collection.’ 

Steve flushes. And isn’t it just so damn adorable that after what they’ve just done quite shamelessly, Tony’s one-liners could still make Cap blush.

Tony doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

\--

He doesn’t stop smiling the next day either. Waking up next to a sleep tousled, half-naked, sexed-out Captain America is only a thousand times more satisfying than he’d ever imagined it (and he’d imagined a lot).

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to notice something’s up. They’re not trying to hide it after all. Besides, Tony doesn’t think he could hide just how stupidly happy he is, even if he was trying. His jaw is starting to ache from all the grinning (and probably the other things too).

‘So.’ To Tony’s surprise, Hank is the first one to comment. ‘You seem different lately, Tony. Is something going on?’ They’re in the labs, working together on an upgrade for the mansion’s security and the question takes Tony by surprise. Normally when he and Hank are working on something, conversation between them is strictly professional. They both have a tendency towards single minded focus that doesn’t lend well to idle chatter when working.

Tony sets down his welding torch and turns to look at Hank. ‘What do you mean?’ He knows full well what Hank means, but it amuses him to play dumb. 

Hank raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re awfully happy lately.’

Tony smiles smugly. ‘I am, aren’t I?’

Hank pauses then clears his throat. ‘It’s Steve, isn’t it?’

Tony’s grin widens. He bites the inside of his cheek to try and suppress it. ‘Might be.’

Hank shakes his head and sighs. ‘Just don’t screw it up.’

Tony would feel insulted but he’s knows that’s not going to happen this time. He won’t screw up, because he won’t let himself. He’s supposed to be a genius, after all, and only an idiot would screw up a relationship with Captain America. ‘I won’t,’ he tells Hank, and with a solemn shared look, they both go back to work.

\--

He spends the next couple of weeks of work, training and rescuing the elderly from burning buildings, in a haze of sexual gratification and tries to tell himself that’s all it is. Because Tony Stark does not fall in love (except maybe, when he totally does).

His state of buzzing enthusiasm seems to be putting the other Avengers on edge. They won’t say it, but Tony’s pretty sure they’re all thinking the relationship can’t last. Tony knows he has a playboy reputation and he’s always been fine with it because it’s just that, a reputation. Maybe there’s some truth to it when he’s single and just looking for a good time, but he’d never cheat on a partner. He’d never cheat on Steve. For one thing, no one could compete with the amazing sex anyway. For another, Tony will admit only to himself, he’s pretty sure this is what it feels like to be fucking _smitten._

So maybe he does smile a little more often and maybe he does talk about Steve a little too much and maybe he does sit a little too close to Steve on movie nights but he has as much right as anyone to be happy. Even if he does secretly feel like he doesn’t deserve it.

It’s two weeks into their relationship and a little over halfway through the third team movie night since they got together, when Steve gives him a tap on the shoulder and cocks his head towards the door, raising his eyebrows with a suggestive leer. Tony smirks and nods.

‘Well,’ Steve says as he rises to his feet, ‘I’m exhausted. Off to bed. I’ll see you all tomorrow.’ 

‘Yeah, me too.’ Tony gives an exaggerated stretch and yawn and get up to follow Steve. ‘I’m beat.’ Hank raises an eyebrow and tilts his head in a way that says they’re fooling no one. And in the corner of his eye he sees Jan give an exaggerated shudder.

Clint rolls his eyes. ‘Oh just go get laid and let us watch the movie already.’

‘Well,’ Tony laughs, ‘I know I’m not the best at following orders, but I think that’s one I can handle.’ He gives a mock salute and follows Steve to the bedroom.

Tony closes the door behind him with a soft click and smiles at Steve. ‘So -’ he says.

Steve holds up a hand to silence him. ‘Wait a second.’ He grins sheepishly and rubs a nervous hand on the leg of his pants. It’s enough to draw Tony’s eyes to his crotch where they linger as Steve crosses the room. ‘I’ve been thinking…’ 

Tony’s eyes drift back to Steve’s hands as he opens the dresser and pulls out a length of rope. Tony’s jaw tenses, because he can see where this is going and he knows it’s too soon. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Steve - because Steve is Captain Fucking America, if anyone in the world can be trusted to do this safely it’s Cap - it’s just that he doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t know that he won’t panic; doesn’t know that he won’t forget who he’s with and where he is and if that happens, it would ruin everything. 

‘I thought we could try something different,’ Steve says as he dangles the rope in Tony’s field of vision. There’s an almost maniacal grin on Steve’s face that removes the last traces of hope Tony had held, that maybe Steve wanted to be the one getting tied, not doing the tying. 

Tony hesitates, choosing his words carefully. He doesn’t like saying no and feels a little uncomfortable admitting that he doesn’t want to do it, but he’s smart enough to know he can’t fake his way through this one. He’s sure Steve will be good about it. ‘I’m… not sure I’m entirely comfortable with that.’

Steve’s grin falters. ‘Oh come on, Tony, I’d do it for you!’ Guilt bubbles up in Tony’s belly, because he knows it’s true. Positions reversed, Tony’s sure that Steve would at least try. The thought nearly makes Tony change his mind, but he thinks about the feeling of rope around his wrists and he thinks about the consequences of an inevitable panic attack (Tony will not have Steve thinking he’s weak, even if it is true).

‘It’s just, I have a little thing about being restrained. Bad memories, is all. I want to. Really, I do. I’m just not sure it’s a good idea right away.’

‘Don’t you trust me?’ Steve looks and sounds so hurt that the guilt spikes painfully in Tony’s chest and stays there making him feel queasy. 

‘It’s not that.’

Steve drops the rope to the ground with a sigh. ‘Yeah. Sure. Fine. Whatever.’

Tony winces. ‘Sorry, Steve.’

Steve huffs. ‘Sure.’

‘Can’t we just…’ Tony steps closer and puts his hands on Steve’s hips. He tries to hide the simmering guilt with a half-hearted leer and a suggestive hip wiggle, but he doesn’t feel it. The sense of regret has settled in the pit of his stomach and any promiscuity he’d felt early has been replaced with a feint sense of nausea. But hey, he’s Tony Stark and sex is sex, whether he feels like it or not. Plus he really needs to make this up to Steve.

Steve pushes Tony’s hands away and turns his back to him. ‘I’m tired, Tony. I’m just not in the mood.’

‘You were in the mood a minute ago!’ Hello foot, meet mouth. So much for Tony Stark the genius. 

‘I was in the mood for something different, Tony, you’re the one who changed that.’ Steve strips down to his underwear and slides in under the bed sheets. ‘I’m tired of the same stuff.’

Tony hops on one foot as he attempts to remove his shoes while still looking at Steve. ‘Hey, I can do different! I can do all kinds of different,’ he says lightly as he strips off his shirt and hangs it on the back of a chair. ‘I just need a little more time before we go down that particular rout, okay?’ Steve just grunts and turns his back as Tony slides in next to him and goes for a bear hug. Tony elbows him in the back. ‘Oh come on, honeybear, don’t sulk.’

Steve sighs. ‘Just sleep, Tony.’ 

This is the best thing he’s had in so long and already he’s managed to screw it up. Before he can fuck things up any worse, he decides to keep his mouth shut. He lies awake for five hours, watching Steve sleep and thinking of ways to make it up to him.

\--

Tony wakes up alone the next morning. His heart drops a little when Jarvis tells him Steve’s not in the mansion, but he reminds himself that he probably just went for a morning jog. That’s perfectly normal Steve behaviour.

Instead of dwelling, he grabs some clean towels and goes to take a shower. He forces himself to mentally go over the schematics for his latest suit upgrade instead of replaying the night before for the seventh time. But the water pelting his face and reminding him of why he’s not a fan of showering makes it difficult to keep his mind from more dangerous pursuits.

A few minutes later, he slips into a robe and slippers, drapes a towel over his shoulders and shuffles towards the kitchen in search of coffee. He tells himself for the sixteenth time that Steve’s just gone for a run.

Clint’s in the kitchen pulling faces at a bowl of burnt porridge (you can burn porridge?) but he perks up the moment he sees Tony. ‘You two lover boys have a falling out?’ He sounds disconcertingly cheerful about the prospect, but more importantly, where the fuck did that question come from?

‘What makes you think that?’ Tony asks, rubbing his hair dry with the towel as a ruse to cover his face while he desperately fights for composure. He aims for casual, but probably misses by a long shot if Clint notices the croak in his voice as he says it.

‘You two have been coming in for breakfast together every day for the past two weeks. Today Steve comes in looking grumpy, refuses to talk to me then goes off for a run.’ There. See. Steve really has gone for a run.

Tony sighs and fetches himself a cup of coffee. ‘It’s nothing, Clint.’

Clint’s mischievous grin falters for a moment. ‘Seriously though, are you guys okay?’

‘Yeah, it’s nothing. Just… nothing.’ Because it is. Nothing. Steve’s just a little disappointed and sexually frustrated and everything will be fine once he’s had a chance to think about it. Which is probably what the run is about anyway.

Clint watches him dubiously for a moment, but thankfully says no more. A slightly awkward silence descends as Tony finishes his second and third coffee and Clint pushes his porridge around a little. It’s made all the more awkward the moment Steve walks in.

Steve stands by the door for a moment and looks at them. Then he nods. ‘Tony,’ he says neutrally as he walks in and gets himself a glass of milk.

Tony nods back. ‘Steve.’ Steve takes a seat across from Tony and stares intently at him. Tony fidgets, drinks his forth cup of coffee and avoids looking directly at Steve.

‘Okaaaay,’ says Clint, edging out of the room after the awkward silence goes unchallenged for a solid two minutes. ‘I’ll just leave you two to it.’

Alone at last, Tony finally looks at Steve. ‘What’s with this passive aggressive bullshit, Steve?’

Steve splutters and chokes on a mouthful of milk. ‘What?’

‘You’re looking at me like I’ve done something terrible.’ Tony stands and turns his back to Steve, under the pretence of refilling his coffee. ‘If this is about last night, I didn’t even say no - I said not yet. You want me to say okay to something I’m not comfortable with? Is that it? You’re so desperate to get your rocks off that you don’t even care about what I want?’

‘No, it’s not like that.’ Steve’s hand is on Tony’s shoulder. Tony tenses. But only because he hadn’t heard Steve get up. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Tony.’ He turns Tony around and puts both hands on his shoulders this time. ‘I was just… frustrated. You know how it is?’ He gives Tony a peck on the cheek and pulls him into an embrace. 

Tony laughs and nuzzles against Steve’s shoulder. He should probably still be pissed, but it’s too difficult for him to resist snuggling with Steve. Goddammit, Steve knows all his weaknesses. ‘Yeah,’ he mumbles into Steve’s shoulder, ‘I know what you mean.’

‘So,’ Steve slides a hand down the back of Tony’s pants, ‘make it up to me?’

Tony groans and rolls his hips. ‘That I can do, soldier.’

Steve nips at Tony’s ear, grabs his wrist and all but drags him to the bedroom.

The next thing Tony knows one of Steve’s hands is tangled in his hair, tugging so hard it brings tears to his eyes and makes him feel like his scalp is on fire. His other hand is wrapped around Tony’s bicep so tightly it’s almost unbearable (and Steve’s a fucking super soldier, if he squeezes much harder he’s going to break bone). Tony just grits his teeth and clutches the bed sheets because he can’t ask Steve to stop. He won’t. After last time, that would be too selfish, even for him. Besides, he’s Iron man, and if he can’t handle a little rough treatment now and then, he should probably give up being a superhero. Steve being Steve, he probably doesn’t even realise he’s hurting him and will guilt-trip and puppy-dog eye himself through the whole next month if Tony tells him. Hell if Tony’s going to put up with that.

Steve’s going faster, thrusting harder, and, shit, it really hurts - he’s going to be very sore after this. Tony’s arousal is quickly fading, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s felt worse pain, in less pleasant situations. He can handle this, because it’s obvious now that this is what Steve likes, and he won’t deny him that. So he holds back the pained grunt and just lies there and takes it.

When he’s finished, Steve rolls over with a satisfied grumble and goes to sleep. He doesn’t even notice Tony’s lack of arousal. Tony tells himself it’s probably for the best; there are no awkward conversations this way.

After a few minutes of watching Steve sleep, Tony gets cleaned up then heads to the labs. He spends the rest of the day working and trying to ignore the pain. 

\--

A few days later Tony finds Steve in the living room, watching TV. He takes a seat next to him and shuffles close enough that their shoulders are touching. ‘So what are we watching tonight?’

‘There’s a documentary about renaissance art starting in a couple of minutes.’

‘God, no. We’re not watching that.’ Tony snatches the remote from Steve’s hand and starts channel surfing.

‘Hey!’ Steve leans over to take the remote back but Tony shuffles away and holds it out of reach. Maybe a bit of play fighting can lead to something a little more fun than art documentaries, if he plays his cards right. ‘Give me that.’ Steve makes a grab for the remote again but Tony yelps and slides onto his back, pushing Steve away with his foot and holding the remote out over his head.

‘Tony, stop!’ Steve grabs his wrist, pulls him back into a sitting position, yanks the remote from his hand and scowls at him.

‘Huh?’ Tony’s can’t think of anything more articulate to say; he’d thought they were just messing around but Steve actually sounds pissed now.

‘We’re watching the damn documentary.’ Steve flicks the channel back and with one last glare turns back to the TV. 

‘Oh.’ So, that had been a misjudgement. Only Tony Stark could screw up something so simple. ‘Um.’ Tony scratches the back of his head. ‘Sorry?’ Steve grunts but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. For a genius, Tony Stark couldn’t half be a fucking idiot.

\--

Tony figures the whole rough sex thing hasn’t been going too badly. Maybe he feels obligated after pissing Steve off, or maybe it’s just his general disregard for self-preservation, but that night he suggests they try Steve’s _something new_.

Steve just looks confused. Tony sighs. That’s the last time he tries to avoid a touchy subject with euphemisms. He holds his hands together out in front of him. ‘Make with the rope, Captain Rogers.’

‘Really?’ It’s much more like a high-pitched squeal than anyone who isn’t a thirteen year-old girl should be capable of.

Tony laughs half-heartedly. ‘Sure.’ Steve bounces around like an overexcited puppy as he gathers the ropes from the dresser. Tony watches. He taps a finger restlessly on the bed post, nodding his head to an imaginary beat and counting each tap. One, two, three. One, two, three. If he can just keep counting and focus on keeping the rhythm, he won’t have to think too much about what he’s about to do. What makes Steve happy makes him happy, so he can do this. Even if it’s not exactly his own idea of a good time.

Steve dumps the pile of rope at the foot of the bed, pulls Tony close then kisses him enthusiastically. Without a word, Steve pushes Tony onto his back, then kneels down and pulls off Tony’s shoes and socks, but leaves him otherwise clothed. 

Tony closes his eyes and takes slow, steady breaths as Steve ties the rope around his ankles. It’s unpleasantly tight. It slows his circulation and his pants pinch and chafe against his skin every time he moves his legs - which he can’t seem to stop unsuccessfully trying to do. It’s horrible. But Steve runs a gentle hand up his stomach and through his hair and he kisses Tony’s hands as he takes hold of them. That makes it easy.

Steve draws the rope around Tony’s wrist and ties a complex looking knot that he probably learned in the goddamn boy scouts. ‘God, Tony, you look so hot like this,’ he says. Tony tries to smile but Steve pulls the rope just a little tighter and he hisses as his circulation is cut off.

Without warning Steve flips Tony onto his stomach. That’s how they always do it. Tony thinks it must be some strange self-conscious thing, because Steve obviously doesn’t like Tony looking at him while they have sex. Steve slides a hand under the waistband of Tony’s pants and gently tugs. ‘Wait,’ Tony says. Steve’s roaming hand stills, but he doesn’t remove it. ‘Don’t we need… like a safe word or something?’ 

‘I don’t think we’ll need that, Tony.’

‘Yeah, but it can’t hurt to have one, just in case.’

Steve removes his hand. ‘You trust me, right?’

‘Of course. I mean, we’re doing this, aren’t we?’ Tony tries to squirm his way onto his back so he can see what Steve’s doing. The ropes bite into his skin with every movement and Steve’s still straddling his waist, so it’s difficult, but he manages to twist his neck around enough that he can see Steve in the corner of his eye.

‘Good.’ Steve’s says. ‘Because a safe word isn’t going to work out.’ Steve pulls a ball of familiar heavy grey cotton from his pocket, and those are Tony’s freaking socks! But before Tony has a chance to protest, Steve shoves them in his mouth and ties them in place with a spare length of rope. Steve strokes a hand through Tony’s hair, but it’s not nearly so reassuring when his mouth tastes of feet and he can’t even tell Steve he’s not happy about it.

Tony grunts in protest and tries to turn away to let Steve know he’s not happy with this anymore. But Steve must mistake it for something else because he grinds against Tony wriggling hips and pushes Tony’s head into the pillows.

Tony tries to relax. He tries to just let go and let Steve do what he needs to, because there’s nothing he can do to stop him now anyway (and that’s okay, that’s okay; he suggested this and Steve would never hurt him).

But the rope’s too tight and he can’t feel his fingers or toes anymore. This isn’t right. He can’t do this anymore. He wants to scream _stop, stop, stop_ , but he can’t. The gag’s making it difficult to breath and Steve shoves his head further into the pillows and all he can feel is cloth against his nostrils and no air’s getting in. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He tries to kick and struggle and anything to make Steve stop. But he can’t move and he can’t breathe and he can’t make it stop. He feels dizzy and sick and he’s going to puke and that’s not good, not good at all. He can’t die here choking on his own vomit while Steve’s fucking him and totally oblivious.

Pain grips him in the chest so tight that it feels like he’s having a heart attack (and he actually knows what that feels like - he’s not just being dramatic). And he _can’t fucking breathe!_ There’s a tingling hot-sweat running all down his body but he can’t stop shivering. And Steve’s too busy to notice. His vision’s fuzzing around the edges and he prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that he’s about to pass out. 

Steve pulls his hair and it lifts his head away from the pillow long enough that he takes an involuntary deep breath of air. The haze of black lifts slightly. But he wishes it hadn’t; he just wants to pass out. Just wants to make it stop.

Steve grunts and trembles and all Tony can think is _thank god, thank god, thank god_. Steve rolls onto his back and sighs. After a minute, Steve pulls Tony closer and tugs off the gag. Tony coughs and wheezes as Steve unties the rest of the restraints then lies back down.

There’s silence between them as Tony tries desperately to catch his breath. ‘Can we…’ he chokes on the words but manages to turn the threatening sob into a weak cough. ‘Can we not do this next time?’

Steve runs a gentle hand through Tony’s sweaty hair. ‘You were great, Tony.’ But he doesn’t say anything else.

\--

After that, everything goes back to normal. Except that Tony remains tender from Steve’s persistent rough side in the bedroom. But Tony’s fine with it, it’s nothing he can’t handle and he can sufficiently distract Steve enough that he doesn’t even notice when Tony enjoys it a little less than he should. Tony’s pretty sure it’s just some 40's sexual frustration thing anyway. He’ll probably stop once he realises it’s not necessary. And if he doesn’t, well, Tony could get used to it. It’s Steve, after all.

They sleep together, have meals with the rest of the team, work out every day and arrest a couple of super villains. Tony takes Steve out for dinner. Steve takes Tony to an art gallery. Nothing out of the ordinary. Steve’s the perfect gentleman, Tony’s on his best behaviour, and everything’s great between them. For a week anyway.

It’s early, Tony had a long night in the lab, but he gets up anyway, because Steve suggest they shower together and Tony’s never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. After, they have a quick breakfast then Steve suggests a workout. Normally Tony would refuse so early in the morning, but Steve gives him the puppy dog eyes and Tony’s like putty in his hands.

They go a few rounds. But Tony’s tired and his mind keeps drifting to important schematics he needs to complete. 

‘What the hell is wrong with you, Tony?’ Steve grabs him by elbow and wrist and twists. Tony topples to the floor for the fifth time in as many minutes. He slams his shoulder against the ground and hisses at the spike of pain. ‘I’ve told you this three times already.’

Tony winces as he struggles to his feet and carefully rolls his shoulder. He feels the stiffness that tells him he’s getting another bruise for the collection. He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. ‘I’ll get it eventually. We can’t all be super soldiers.’

Steve huffs. ‘You’re just slow, Tony. Clint can hold his own just fine, hell, even Hank is better at sparing than you. Face it, the only thing that keeps you from being dead weight is the suit and trying to change that is proving to be a wasted effort.’

Tony freezes for a moment. ‘Fine. Whatever.’ Tony grabs his towel and bottle of water and storms out of the gym. Times like these he wishes he hadn’t given the mansion automatic doors. 

He knows he shouldn’t be pissed but Steve hit a nerve. He’s always known he’s a liability to the team; no matter how much he trains and practices he just can’t keep up without the suit. He’s been telling himself, that’s okay, Steve’s teaching him, but the truth is he just can’t compete. Maybe if he wasn’t such a god awful student; maybe if he was stronger, faster, smarter, _better_. But he’s not. He never has been. 

God, what’s been up with him lately, it’s like he’s physiologically incapable of not screwing things up. And to make things worse he’s being temperamental about it and starting to take things out on Steve. What an asshole.

He figures he should apologise. Instead, he goes to his workshop and spends the next thirty six hours re-designing Cap’s shield (he’ll need a replacement now the old one’s broken). Steve doesn’t come to see him once.

\--

He’s proud of the finished product. The design is different to Steve’s old shield, but it’s also lighter and more heavily reinforced. Plus he’d managed to resist the urge to add a variety of useful gadgets that Steve would hate.

It’s mid-evening, so the team should be having dinner together. He’s too impatient to wait to speak to Steve in private, so he makes his way up to the kitchen. Everyone’s there even the Hulk - he guesses it’s a team bonding type thing, and even though he would’ve refused, he can’t help but feel a little hurt that no one invited him. 

Tony greets the team with nothing more than a nod then hones in on Steve. He taps his shoulder to draw his attention. ‘Hey, Steve.’ The rest of the team are carefully not paying attention (except T’Challa and Hulk, who really aren’t).

Steve nods. ‘Tony.’ There’s a pause. ‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, this?’ He holds the new shield up casually, like it’s not the sole reason he’s there. ‘I just made it. It’s an upgrade.’ He hands the shield to Steve.

Steve gets up from the table, weighs the shield out in his hands then gives Tony a funny look. ‘Why would I want this?’

‘Well, I thought you could use -’ 

‘God, are you a complete idiot?’ From the corner of his eye, Tony notices that Jan isn’t pretending not to watch anymore.

‘Um, no?’

‘The weight and shape affects the aerodynamics, Tony. How do you expect me to throw this accurately?’ Hank and Clint are blatantly staring now too, and even T’Challa’s watching warily, Hulk and Thor just look bemused. Tony tries to ignore them, but it’s making his skin crawl. He should have done this in private.

‘No, no. I made sure. The aerodynamics are improved. You should be able to throw it further with less wind resistance. Once you get used to the new design and weight -’

‘No, Tony. Don’t you get it? I don’t want this.’ Steve shoves the new shield into Tony’s open arms then storms off.

Tony turns to the rest of the team. He chews on his bottom lip and tries to avoid the uncomfortable stares without seeming too pathetic. ‘Well, that could have gone better.’ He turns and leaves before anyone has a chance to reply.

He takes the shield down to the lab, because as much as he wants to just destroy it, there may be a day when Cap won’t have a choice - when he’ll _need_ it. And if that means hiding it away in a draw somewhere and pretending it doesn’t exist, then fine. Better to be well prepared than let the nauseating feeling of embarrassment supersede his logic.

He stays in the lab all night again because, if he’s honest, he doesn’t want to face Steve. He’s doesn’t think it’ll lead to an argument, but in hindsight he’s pretty embarrassed that he had the audacity to redesign Cap’s shield without even consulting him about it. He fixes Steve’s shield this time, using the broken pieces to re-forge it exactly as it was before.

He goes up to the mansion around noon, leaves the new-old shield in the gym for Steve to find in his own time, then heads for the kitchen seeking coffee. Jan’s there, reading a magazine and sipping a cup of coffee. Clint’s there too, stroking his bow lovingly, or possibly polishing it, but Tony struggles to see the distinction. Tony grumbles a greeting and goes over to brew a fresh pot of coffee so he can take back to the lab with him. He’s impatiently tapping his foot, waiting, when there’s a hesitant pat on his shoulder.

‘Tony, can I have a word with you?’ Jan asks him. ‘In private,’ she adds quietly, casting a glance at Clint.

She looks a little nervous, so Tony shoots her his best reassuring grin then follows her into the living room and takes a seat next to her on the couch. ‘What’s up?’

Jan fidgets and for a long minute she won’t look at him. She takes a long, slow breath and releases it in a sigh before fixing Tony with a deadly serious look. ‘Tony,’ she starts with confidence, then falters, ‘I know you’re probably going to tell me it’s not my business and maybe it isn’t, but I’m worried.’ Well that doesn’t bode well. ‘This thing you have with Steve… he doesn’t seem to treat you very well, Tony.’

Tony raises an eyebrow. ‘What are you talking about?’ Tony’s not just playing dumb, he is genuinely baffled. For the most part, outside of the bedroom, Steve’s always friendly, charming and everything Tony could ever wish for. Yeah, he’s been a little distant since Tony’s screw up in their sparing session, but they’re getting past that now, and it’s nothing Jan should be noticing anyway.

‘He pushes you around, Tony.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Janet.’ He clenches his fists and grits his teeth. He can feel something unsettling like rage beginning to simmer in his stomach. Jan has no right to go making such ridiculous accusations. ‘Steve doesn’t make me do anything.’

‘Maybe not, but he says and does things you wouldn’t take from anyone else and you shouldn’t take it from him.’ And so what if that’s true. They’re partners, that’s normal. Of course he gives Steve’s a little leeway, Steve gives him the same, and Jan shouldn’t be making him sound like some beaten-down housewife because of it.

He slams his hand down on the couch arm and rises to his feet. ‘I don’t like what you’re implying. Cap’s a good man!’

‘I know that. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just not sure your relationship is healthy; I’ve seen the bruises, Tony. It’s not normal and you can’t let him do that to you.’

Tony deflates. So that’s what this is about. ‘Look, Jan, I know what you think, but it’s not like that. He likes that shit, okay?’

‘And you? Do you like it?’

‘God! I don’t have to explain my sex life to you.’

‘I’m just worried, Tony.’

‘I know. I know. I understand why you’re worried, but it’s not like that. Really, it’s not.’

Jan nods but she doesn’t look particularly relieved. ‘Okay, Tony. I trust you.’ Tony pats her reassuringly on the shoulder, and heads back to the lab.

\--

Stupid Jan. Putting ideas in his head. Tony knows she misunderstood, but it doesn’t stop him thinking of her words the next time Steve grabs his wrist when he wants something (why doesn’t he just ask?) or the next time he initiates rough sex (why doesn’t he ask first?). He thinks it’s a bit like seeing a shadowy figure over his shoulder; he knows he’s just imagining things, knows it’s not real, but he can’t help looking once the idea’s in the back of his mind.

So maybe Jan’s words affect him more than they should. It’s completely ridiculous, but he can’t seem to get them out of his head. It’s just a coincidence, he tells himself, that the next time they have sex, Steve’s a little too overenthusiastic. ‘Okay,’ Tony says between grunts of pain. ‘Stop. I want to stop now. Can we stop?’ With one last violent thrust, Steve stills.

‘What?’

Still, Tony hesitates. He thinks if he really tries he can do this. But there’s that little niggling Jan voice shouting at him in the back of his mind, forcing him to test the waters. Making him prove that Jan is wrong. No one pushes Tony Stark around, not even Captain America. ‘I want to stop.’ Tony slowly releases one of his clenched fists, braces his hand on the headboard and tries to push Steve away with his feet. ‘You’re hurting me.’

‘I need to finish,’ Steve says. Tony grits his teeth as Steve’s hips twitch minutely. 

‘Yeah, I know. Just, let’s do it another way, okay? I don’t really want to do this anymore.’ God, Tony can be fucking selfish at times, but if he can just prove to that annoying little Jan voice this once, he won’t have to do it again. Besides, he’s not lying, he’s really not enjoying himself, and he can make it good for Steve without suffering this unnecessary pain. 

‘God, why are you complaining, Tony? This was your idea.’ It’s true, Tony had initiated things this time, but he hadn’t meant it to go like this. He’d wanted something softer, thought maybe they could do it his way for once. But Tony always gives Steve exactly what he wants. That’s what you do for people you care about. Even if Jan doesn’t understand that.

Steve sighs but pulls away regardless.

Tony can’t hold back a hiss of pain as he rolls over to look at Steve. He spots something in the corner of his eye that makes him freeze. ‘Christ, Steve. I’m bleeding.’ There are little speckles of reddish-brown drying on the sheets, so Tony sticks a hand down to check and his fingers come away spotted with blood. He has a surge of blind panic for a second before logic takes over and tells him it can’t be that bad - there’s not much blood and the pain’s not much worse than normal; it’s just a little superficial tearing. ‘I’m not having fun anymore.’ But he never really was. 

Wordlessly, Steve flips Tony back onto his stomach and Tony has another brief moment of panic when he thinks Steve’s about to start up again. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. It’s Steve. He’s just checking the damage. ‘You’re fine,’ Steve says after a moment of gentle prodding. ‘It’s nothing serious, just a little tearing. It’s stopped bleeding already.’ With a sigh, Steve throws himself down on the bed next to Tony. He quickly jerks himself off, then pat Tony on the shoulder with a weak smile. ‘Sorry.’

Tony shrugs. ‘It’s fine.’ At least now the little Jan voice can shut up. Steve stopped when he asked him to. Steve checked he wasn’t hurt. Hell, Steve apologised. Maybe he’s even learned to go a little easier from now on.

\--

The next day is hell. Sitting in the lab makes him feel like his ass is on fire. Training’s a no-go too, since he can barely walk without limping.

He stays in bed working on a tablet computer until noon. He goes swimming until his fingers are wrinkled and his muscles are aching. He paces, trying to think of things he can do without sitting or kneeling or lying on his back - basically doing anything other than standing in one spot. He sighs and goes to find Steve. Maybe they can play some Ping-Pong or something, that’s a low exertion sport, right?

He comes across T’Challa meditating in one of the mansion’s many rec-rooms. ‘Seen Steve anywhere?’

T’Challa opens one eye to look at him. ‘I have not.’

‘Oh, well, okay. If you see him… I’m looking for him.’ Tony turns to leave.

‘Tony?’

Tony stops and looks over his shoulder at T’Challa. He’s watching Tony with his full attention now. ‘Yeah?’

‘I believe your relationship with the Captain is not beneficial. He does not treat you with the respect one ought to show their partner.’

‘What?’ Tony turns to stare at T’Challa. Where the hell did that come from? He must have been talking to Jan. Where did those two get off sticking their noses into other people’s business and making completely unfounded accusations? ‘I wasn’t asking for goddamn relationship advice. Just tell him I’m looking for him.’

T’Challa shakes his head. ‘It was simply an observation.’ Then he goes back to meditating, like he never said a word.

Tony doesn’t feel like playing Ping-Pong after that, he grabs an apple and some coffee from the kitchen then goes back to his lab. Maybe he’ll find something he can work on standing up.

\-- 

It still takes Tony a while to admit to himself that something might not be quite right. He keeps telling himself it’s fine. Jan and T’Challa are wrong. But he can’t deny that something’s not right, when Steve invites him back to the bedroom one night and his stomach flip-flops in dread. Fuck, he thinks, but he dismisses it and carries on with life.

His ass still hurts every time he moves, every time he sits, every time he breaths. But he never turns Steve down. It’s not worth facing a sulking Steve for the next two days just to avoid giving him a blow job (even if it leaves Tony with a throbbing jaw and finger shaped bruises all along his neck). And, yeah, okay, Tony will admit that maybe it’s not exactly how he’d imagined things, but he doesn’t care. It’s not like Steve hits him or anything. It’s just sex.

And that’s what he reminds himself when he tenses up because everyone’s off doing their own thing and Steve and he are alone for the whole night. It’s just sex. It’s just sex, he reminds himself when he flinches because Steve puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s just sex, he reminds himself when he freezes up because Jarvis tells him Captain Rogers is looking for him.

‘Let him in, Jarvis,’ Tony says, because this is all Jan’s fault. He was doing fine until she butted in and he won’t let her destroy this.

‘Are you quite certain, sir? Your heart rate is climbing.’

It’s stupid to feel angry at his own AI, but he does. He can’t deny Jarvis’ observation, can’t pretend his heart isn’t beating a little quicker at the prospect of facing an accusing Steve and trying to justify the importance of the project he’s been working on, without sounding like he’s making excuses for ignoring him. ‘Yes, Jarvis,’ he says through gritted teeth, ‘I’m certain.’

Steve wanders into the lab and staggers over to Tony. He’s all decked out in the Captain America uniform, to Tony’s bemusement. But something’s not right. The uniform is tattered and torn and Steve looks haggard, little cuts are scattered across his face and hands, like he’s been involved in a scuffle. But that’s not right; he’s been in the mansion all night. ‘Steve?’ Tony asks cautiously. ‘What happened?’

Steve steps closer. ‘Tony,’ he says and it sounds worn-down, dejected and totally un-Cap-like. ‘He’s a Skrull, Tony - an alien. He’s not me.’

That’s when Steve walks in. The real Steve. He tackles the uniform clad Steve to the floor and they fight while Tony looks on trying to figure out if this is real or some sort of bizarre dream. ‘Jarvis! Prep the mark V,’ Tony says after his brain snaps back into gear. He’s not sure who, or what, this new Cap is, but he needs to be prepared in case the real Steve can’t handle him.

By the time Tony returns, the imposter Cap is holding the unconscious Steve in a headlock. Tony aims a repulsor at him. ‘Let him go.’

‘Tony, wait, please.’ Tony doesn’t shoot. But only because the fake Cap might try to break the real ones neck as he goes down. ‘You have to listen to me, Tony.’

‘I don’t have to do anything. Let Cap go.’

‘I _am_ Captain America!’

Tony laughs. ‘I saw Steve half an hour ago. You expect me to believe you changed into your uniform and then he,’ Tony tilts his head to the unconscious Steve, ‘beat you up and stole your clothes?’

The imposter shakes his head. ‘Tony… I’ve been gone for a long time. Over a month.’

‘Oh this shit just gets better and better.’

‘Tony, listen to me! You think this is more absurd than being frozen in the Arctic for seventy year?’

Tony scowls. He steps closer still pointing the repulsor at the imposter. He stares this strange definitely-not-Captain-America in the face, leans closer and plucks out one of his hairs. The Cap-clone yelps. ‘What was that for?!’

Tony quickly backs away, better to keep his distance until he knows what he’s dealing with. ‘Analysis.’ He sticks the hair under a scanner on his worktop without turning his back to the Cap-clone. ‘Jarvis, run a full breakdown on that for me. Tell me who - or what - this joker is.’

‘Right away, sir.’

There’s a tense moment of silence before Jarvis answers his request to tell him it’s ‘Captain Steven Rogers.’ Tony sighs. ‘Run the goddamn scan again, Jarvis.’ 

‘Sir, I don’t think that will be necessary.’ He should not have to argue with his own AI, who should not be stupid enough to refuses to acknowledge the possibility of an error, despite the fact that the real Steve is standing five feet away in clear view. 

‘Run the fucking scan before I programme that defiance out of you, Jarvis.’

‘Sir, in conjunction with your previous request, I took the liberty of running scans on a recent sample of Captain Rogers’ blood.’

‘And?’

‘It appears… Captain Rogers’ DNA contains aspects of unknown origin, likely alien.’

‘That’s not helpful, Jarvis. Which Captain Rogers?’

There’s a pause. ‘In the civilian clothing, Sir.’ Jarvis sounds almost apologetic and it takes Tony a full three seconds to realise why. That’s his Steve. The real Steve.

‘He’s a Skrull, Tony. I was captured over a month ago. He’s been impersonating me since we returned from the fight with Loki.’

He wants to say _no_. It can’t be right. It has to be a lie. Jarvis has to be wrong. But it’s not and he’s not. And _oh fuck_. It takes exactly six seconds for the implications to hit Tony, but when they do it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. He freezes, utterly still with horror for another three seconds before he doubles over clutching his stomach and vomiting all over his thousand dollar shoes. For thirty-three seconds he heaves and heaves as though there’s something in his stomach that’s causing this and if he can just vomit hard enough it’ll all go away.

From the corner of his eye he sees Cap, Steve, the real Steve, the not-a-Skrull-Steve, lower the unconscious Skrull-Steve to the floor and take a cautious step closer, hand outstretched. He’s saying something, Tony’s pretty sure, but he can’t hear him. He can only hear the overwhelming pounding of his heart beating far too fast (like that day in the training room. Oh god, like that day in the training room).

He thinks about all the things he did with Steve. Not Steve. The things… he thinks about all the things he did with Not-Steve and with a moment of total clarity he wishes Loki had killed him, because it makes him feel so overwhelmingly wrong inside. He pictures himself happily sucking off Not-Steve. And shit, he’s vomiting again, like it’s not already far too late to get it out. Like it’s not inside him right now, twisting around inside his intestines somewhere, permanently tainting him with something Not-Steve.

He stumbles back, away from Steve’s outstretched hand, because… if he knew. If Steve knew. He’d hate him. Tony Stark, so desperate to fuck Captain America that he didn’t even realise there was no way the real Cap would do those things with him.

His eyes are blurring, and he’s pretty sure it’s because he’s crying. And isn’t that just pathetic? The whore who sleeps with a Skrull and cries about it afterwards. He realises dimly that he’s struggling to breathe. Having a panic attack, something in the back of him mind tells him vaguely. He should probably try to calm down. But fuck that, he will never be calm again, because he’s had sex with a fucking alien. His vision fades, his legs fold beneath him and he’s pitching forward into his own vomit.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up in their bed. Alone. He can still smell Steve on the sheets. He can still see the little stain on Steve’s pillow from where he drools in his sleep. He wonders if the real Steve drools in his sleep.

He can’t stand it anymore. He grabs a clean towel, resolutely ignores the book Steve’s been reading that sits on the bedside table, the pair of Steve’s shoes by the door and the drawer full of Steve’s clothes. He heads for one of the mansions many disused bathrooms. He can’t use the ensuite, with Steve’s shampoo and Steve’s soap and Steve’s robe and Steve’s toothbrush. He can’t stand all the signs that he’s been sharing his room for the past month. Sharing his room with someone who was definitively not Steve Rogers.

He showers until his fingers start to wrinkle and the soap runs out. He’s not dirty. He doesn’t feel dirty. But he can’t help the skin crawling sensation of Not-Steve’s hands all over his body. It’s bizarre, irrational, and downright stupid, but he can’t stop it. He forces himself to leave the shower. It’s not helping and he knows it’s not going to. He brushes his teeth until his gums bleed, but he could swear the tastes of Steve lingers. 

He means to shave, but he picks up the razor, and he stops. He stares at it for a moment, thoughts frozen. He puts it back. He is not a thirteen year old girl and he will not act like one.

He dresses smart, in a tailored suit. Because he can and he want to and it makes him feel better. It’s like a security blanket, it makes him feel safe. He’s been doing this since he was three years old - wearing suits and looking like a big man when all he feels is really fucking small.

He pauses to gather his wits but he won’t hide. He has nothing to be ashamed of (except everything). He heads for the kitchen. He straightens his shoulders, raises his chin and enters without giving himself a chance to hesitate.

Clint’s there. Just sitting. Waiting, it looks like. Waiting for him, Tony realises, when Clint gets to his feet almost the moment Tony enters. ‘Hey Tony, looking sharp.’ He’s trying too hard to sound casual.

Tony sneers. ‘Astute, Clint.’ Tony pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a seat. Clint shuffles uncertainly from foot to foot, like he’s been expecting something. Tony raises an eyebrow. ‘Need to pee?’

‘What?’ He seems surprised to hear Tony talk. Or maybe he’s just surprised he’s not in the middle of a breakdown.

‘Why are you here Clint?’

‘Uh, I live here.’

Tony rolls his eyes. ‘Go polish you bow, or something.’

Clint puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony tenses but refuses to look up from his coffee. ‘Look, I know about this stuff with the Skrull. You need to talk to Steve, Tony.’

‘Fuck off, Barton.’

‘You have to tell him, Tony!’ And of course, in the fashion of age-old soap operas everywhere, that’s the precise moment Steve walks in. His face is grave and his arms are crossed.

‘Tell me what?’ Tony feels like he’s going to be sick - which seems to be happening a lot lately. He tries to get up and run away, but Clint puts a steady hand on his shoulder and gives him a sympathetic but firm look. ‘Please, tell me what? I’m missing something here, I know. Something’s wrong and I don’t know what it is. Please, tell me, Tony?’ Cap begs.

‘I can’t. I just can’t.’ He says it to the wall somewhere over Steve’s shoulder, because he can’t bring himself to look at Steve.

‘We really thought that Skrull was you, Cap,’ Clint says.

Cap nods. ‘I know. It’s not your fault, I don’t blame you.’

‘No, I know, we know. But we really thought it was you. Cap… you and Tony, you got involved.’ He puts an emphasis on the last word that makes Tony flinch.

Steve shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Jesus Christ, Cap, do I have to spell it out for you?’ At Steve’s baffled look, Clint sighs. ‘You and Tony were in a relationship. Dates. Kisses. Fucking like bunnies.’ What a way to break it to him. Clint’s hand isn’t on Tony’s shoulder anymore, instead it’s waving around suggestively with his other one. So Tony runs. He gets up so fast the chair tips over and he runs all the way down to the labs because he can’t stand the thought of stopping for the elevator. When he arrives at his lab he commands Jarvis to lock everyone out, then runs to the bathroom.

The bathroom door closes and he doesn’t bother to lock it because no one’s getting past Jarvis without his say so. He can feel tears springing to his eyes uncontrollably and that’s okay, because he’s alone, what does it matter if he has a meltdown as long as no one sees. He leans his weight against the door, slides down to the floor and curls up with his knees pressed against his chest. He dips his head down and pulls his jacket over his face as he heaves a deep, stuttering breath in an attempt to calm himself. He sits there going over and over everything he ever did with Not-Steve. Over everything he’s never done with Steve.

He’s never held Steve’s hand. He’s never stroked Steve’s cheek. He’s never kissed Steve. His jaw is shaking and his chest is heaving as he desperately tries to hold back sobs. He remembers the feeling of running his hand through Steve’s hair and trailing kisses down his stomach and he remember the feeling of Steve kissing him, of Steve’s soft breath in his ear of waking up in Steve’s arms, and he has to remind himself that it never happened. No, worse, it happened, it actually happened, and that makes it so much worse. He had sex with a Skrull. He had lots and lots of sex with a goddamn Skrull, and he enjoyed it. 

The dam breaks and he’s sobbing uncontrollably. He’s not sure how long it lasts. Probably less than a minute.

‘Sir?’ It’s Jarvis who stops him.

Tony chokes down another sob. ‘Yes Jarvis?’ His voice is hoarse and it cracks on the words.

‘Your vitals are spiking, sir.’ But Tony knows it’s Jarvis’ way of asking if he’s okay.

‘I…I’ll be okay. In a little while.’

‘Should I inform Captain Rogers?’ Because for all that Jarvis cares and for all that he’s one step away from human, he’s still an AI, and this is so far out of his programming parameters that he couldn’t possibly understand. 

Tony shakes his head. ‘No. I just need to be alone right now, Jarvis.’

‘Of course sir.’

It’s a little easier after that. Or, at least, he doesn’t feel like bawling anymore. He concentrates on breathing even and slow and carefully not thinking about Steve or Not-Steve or really anything at all. He sits there for hours, unable to face Steve, the world, even his own lab. He pulls himself together the only way he knows how, that doesn’t involve drinking until he passes out (that sounds like a good idea, but it would mean leaving the bathroom to find liquor): he draws a mental plan of the suit's next upgrade. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, definitely a lot longer than six hours, because that’s how long it takes to do mental equations as complicated as that recalibration for the suits biometric security processes (and he should really write that down before he forgets it).

He’s about to get up, about to leave the bathroom, when there’s an echoic call from somewhere outside the lab. ‘Iron Man?’ He ignores it. He was ready to go to the lab, not ready to face his teammates. But Thor’s not one to be ignored easily. ‘Iron Man, I wish to speak to you,’ he calls louder this time.

‘Jarvis, tell him to go away.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jarvis sounds reluctant but complies without question.

There’s a long pause, presumably while Jarvis does as he’s told, then Thor’s voice again. ‘It is honourable that you wish to protect the architect of your creation, ethereal voice, but my shield brother has nothing to fear from me. I wish only to speak to my friend.’ Another pause. ‘I shall not be kept from my comrade! Your Midgardian security measures mean naught to the mighty Mjolnir.’ 

Tony can’t help but laugh, but it comes out like a choked huff. He clears his throat. ‘Jarvis? Let him in before he destroys the place.’ Wallowing seems so much less worthwhile when there’s a thunder god about to destroy his lab.

‘I think that would be wise sir.’

After another pause, Thor’s voice is closer this time. ‘Your surrender is most appreciated, ethereal voice. I shall gladly await friend Stark’s arrival.’

For the first time in hours, Tony gets to his feet. He washes his face without looking in the mirror (it’s hard enough to do that on a good day) and futilely attempts to straighten his rumpled clothes. He stands at the door for a moment, closes his eyes, clenches his fists and tells himself he can do this; he’s Iron Man. He takes two deep breaths then opens the door. ‘Hey Hammer Bro. don’t threaten my AI.’

Thor stares at him for a moment, then Tony’s feet are dangling a foot from the floor and he’s struggling to breathe as his ribs are crushed in the vice grip of an Asgardian bear hug. ‘Iron Man! It is good to see you.’ 

Tony can’t help but smile and weakly pat Thor on the back. He wants to say something witty and sarcastic, but he doesn’t feel up to it, so he just says, ‘It’s good to see you too, big guy.’ He means it. There’s something so non-judgmental about Thor that Tony finally feels he can relax.

Eventually, Thor puts him down. He puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders and looks him up and down. ‘You do not look well, friend Stark.’

Tony smirks and runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. ‘I was kind of _busy_ in the bathroom, Thor.’

Thor frowns. ‘I do not understand.’

Tony sighs and shakes his head. ‘Never mind. So, what can I do for you, big guy?’

‘Regretfully, it is about matters most grievous that I come to confer with you today.’ Wherever this is going, Tony doesn’t like it.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Since the discovery of our adversary’s most cowardly tactic, you hide yourself away from you friends. I find it most troubling. That you would seek solitude when you have been so gravely wounded is only natural, but it is not prudent to do so; you have comrades who would share your burdens.’

Tony laughs weakly. ‘I’m fine, Thor. I haven’t been wounded, let alone gravely. It’s just… this whole thing’s a little embarrassing, that’s all.’ He’ll get over himself eventually. He just needs a little time to wallow in self-pity before he can face the world again. That’s all it is. And if the thought of ever facing Steve again makes him want to puke, maybe he won’t get over that, but he’s always been good at pretending.

‘You are… embarrassed?’ Thor seems shaken by the idea. ‘But it is not you who should feel ashamed! Our adversary deceived you using the most cowardly of methods, my friend. It is he who should feel ashamed of his dishonourable ways.’

Tony shoves Thor’s hands off his shoulders. ‘Look, buddy, I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re wrong, okay? I had sex with a Skrull, that’s pretty fucking embarrassing.’

‘On Asgard, consummating a union made under false identity is a crime punishable by banishment.’

Is that what this is really about, does Thor wants him off the team? ‘Yeah, well we’re not on Asgard now. This is my fucking team and you’re living in my fucking house, so if you have any objections you can just get the fuck out.’ In an idiotic fit of rage, he shoves Thor. Or tries to, Thor isn’t even jostled.

‘I believe there has been a misunderstanding -’

‘Get out!’ 

Thor hesitates then turns and walks to the door. He pauses, but doesn’t turn around. ‘I apologise if I have offended you, Tony Stark. It saddens me greatly to see you in such need and yet unable to accept our assistance.’ Thor leaves before Tony can reply.

\--

He stays in the lab for a week. No one else visits him and he doesn’t even leave to get coffee. But he’s human and even Tony Stark can only survive on chocolate bars and stale pizza for so long. When he gets so hungry his hands are shaking and so tired his vision is blurring, he leaves the lab. It’s no big deal. He’ll just make a sandwich and a pot of coffee and go take a nap in an actual bed.

Except, while the coffee is brewing Steve walks in. He stands in the doorway, looks at Tony and just says, ‘Oh.’

Tony doesn’t move. He straightens his shoulders and clasps his hands behind his back. ‘Cap,’ he says and if it doesn’t wobble or crack, really, that’s nothing to be proud of.

His stomach clenches as Steve takes a step closer. It’s just the hunger. ‘Tony…’

‘So we’ve established we know each other’s names.’

‘Tony, I…’ Then Steve puts his hand on Tony’s shoulder. And fuck, that is not okay. It was only a few weeks ago that he was standing in the exact same spot. Steve’s hand was on his shoulder then too. Only, it wasn’t Steve that time. He pushes Steve away, and then he runs. 

He leaves the kitchen, he leave the mansion and he get halfway down the street before he runs straight into someone. He mutters an apology and tries to walk past without looking up. ‘Mr Stark?’ Wait. He recognises that voice. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Samson? What are you doing here?’

Samson clears his throat. ‘Well actually, I came here to talk with you.’

‘Okay. Well, you’ve found me. What’s this about?’ Some part of him feels a little bad about hoping there’s a world threatening crisis about to take place. He could really do with a distraction right now and the selfish, asshole part of him can’t help but wish, because it’s so much easier to be Iron Man that it is to be Tony Stark.

‘I’d prefer to do this inside.’

Tony swallows nervously. He doesn’t like the sound of this. But maybe it’s just a top-secret world threatening crisis, this is SHIELD after all. ‘No,’ he says. He’s not going back in there after his freak out.

‘Alright then. Can we walk?’ Tony nods and follows him. ‘I heard about your… predicament.’ Tony’s hopes are dashed. He wishes he’d refused to talk to Samson now.

Tony crosses his arms and looks at the floor. He shouldn’t be surprised that Samson knows, really. Everyone at SHIELD must know about the Skrull by now, and he hadn’t exactly been hiding his relationship with Not-Steve, so of course the news would be spreading like wildfire. It still bothers him, though - the thought of his ignominy going around the rumour mill, of people joking about how easy he must be, to sleep with a goddamn alien. He forces himself to look Samson in the eye. ‘Hasn’t everyone?’

Samson gives him a stern look, like he can tell what Tony’s thinking. ‘No, Mr Stark, Ms Van Dyne was concerned, she informed me personally.’ Tony’s not sure if he should be more or less appalled by that thought. He settles for rolling his eyes. ‘I understand this must be difficult for you. If you need someone to talk to - professionally - I can help you.’

‘You think I need a psychiatrist?’

‘I think you may, understandably, need help dealing with this.’

‘I don’t. I’m fine.’

‘I’ve been told you haven’t left your lab in over a week and the last time you saw Captain Rogers you had a panic attack. I don’t want to sound harsh, but I think you already know this - if you want to continue working with the Avengers, and I know you do, this can’t continue. You’re going to have to seek the help you need and I’m willing to try and provide you with that.’ He stops walking, takes out a business card, scribbles a number on the back and hands it to Tony. ‘That’s my personal and professional number. Please consider my offer carefully, Mr Stark. I just want to help.’ Despite his second thoughts, Tony takes the card and watches Samson leave.

\--

He refuses to admit he needs help. But for two days the card sits on his worktop and reminds him of how well he’s doing the whole not-doing-well thing every time he looks at it. He picks it up, he moves it, he tosses it in the trash at least three times, but he just can’t seem to get rid of it. And doesn’t that in itself prove how much of a hopeless head case he is?

God he has to stop being such an idiot. This hiding in the lab like the coward he is, it’s pathetic and weak and goddamn it, that’s not who he wants to be. He’s a superhero not a brooding teenager. He’ll go and he’ll talk to Steve like a reasonable adult and everything will be fine. And if it’s not, if Steve hates him, or won’t talk to him, or whatever, well, that’s not Tony’s problem.

He takes a quick shower and changes clothes, because he’s not doing this covered in engine grease and smelling like he hasn’t showered in a week. When he’s done he goes straight up to the mansion and doesn’t stop to think.

He finds Steve in one the rec-rooms. He’s sitting on the couch, sketching by the looks of it. He doesn’t notice Tony. Tony tries to say something, but his throat closes up and he doesn’t know what to say. ‘Hey Steve, sorry I had everyone thinking you were my boyfriend, no hard feelings,’ seems pretty damn inadequate.

Steve sighs, he puts down the paper and pencil and gets up. He stretches and Tony can’t help staring at his lean muscles as they contract under that inappropriately tight t-shirt. This was a bad idea. Steve turns around and sees him staring. Like this wasn’t awkward enough already, Tony had to be caught perving. This was a fucking awful idea. He turns to leave.

‘Wait! Tony.’ Tony freezes and Steve runs over to him.

‘I wasn’t, I mean, I was, but I didn’t mean… I was just…’ Oh dear god, he has to get a grip on himself. Words, Tony, think of words.

‘Tony? Are you okay?’ Fuck, where the hell had his brain wandered off to? 

‘I’m fine,’ he says. Except his brain has started working again and all it seems to be saying is _run, run, run_. Tony clenches his fists. He can do this, how hard can it be to think of something to say? ‘Um.’ Really fucking hard, apparently.

‘I know you’re avoiding me, Tony. I’m trying to give you space. I don’t know how to deal with this.’ Steve takes a step closer. Tony takes a step back. ‘I’m just so mad that no one realised. That no one realised I would never - could _never_ do that to you.’

Tony wishes Steve had just punched him. He thought he could do this. Thought it wouldn’t matter what Steve thinks of him. But it does. He can’t just stand there and listen to Steve telling him how horrible and sick and wrong he is. If it was anyone else… but it isn’t, it’s Steve. It’s the man he had been delusional enough to believe he had something special with. And now, not only is that gone, it’s going to cause the loss of their friendship too. He runs.

‘Tony, wait.’ But he can’t. He has to be selfish this time. He can’t listen to what Steve has to say. He can feel his chest tightening. He’s about to scream or cry and he hasn’t decided which yet, but he has to get away from Steve first, because he refuses to be that pathetic.

He makes it to the lab. The door closes behind him and he screams. He grabs the first thing that comes to hand - a useless Iron Man attachment that never worked - and he throws it. It hits a computer monitor and shatters it.

Tony takes two deep breaths and goes to survey the damage. The monitor’s unsalvageable. He tosses the attachment to the side and Samson’s card catches his eye. He picks it up and looks at it. Maybe… if he can just get this horrible sick feeling to go away.

He shoves the card in his pocket and leaves the mansion. It’s stupid, really, but he doesn’t want Jarvis to hear this conversation. He finds a payphone. It smells like someone’s been peeing next to it and if he hesitates, that’s the only reason why. He dials the personal number, because hell if he’s speaking to some secretary. 

It’s answered after three rings. ‘Hello?’

Tony freezes. ‘Um.’ Eloquent, Tony, real eloquent. He should have thought this through more.

Apparently it’s enough though. ‘Mr Stark, is that you?’ 

‘I think I need help,’ he says without preamble, because if he doesn’t, if he stops to think, then he’ll never be able to say it.

‘Alright. Would you like to talk now, or make an appointment?’

‘An appointment.’ Because he’s not so pathetic that he’s going to have his breakdown over the phone.

‘When?’

Now. Before he start freaking out. Before he convinces himself this is stupid and unnecessary. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says, because he doesn’t want to sound desperate (even though he is).

There’s a long pause on the other end. ‘I can see you at one.’

‘Okay.’ Tony hangs up before he has a chance to change his mind. He tears the card up and throws it in the trash so he can’t call back and cancel.

-

He spends the rest of the night and the next morning antsy. He paces mostly. He tinkers in the lab. He tries to watch a movie but can’t focus. Mostly he just wishes he hadn’t thrown the card in the trash. It seems to take an eternity, but eventually noon the next day rolls past and he heads for Samson’s office at SHIELD base.

It’s five to one when he gets there and he doesn’t want to look desperate so he paces in the hallway for eight minutes, glaring at the few hapless SHIELD agents who wander past. Eventually, he knocks on the door and pokes his head around. ‘Doc?’

‘Ah, Mr Stark.’ Samson gets up and crosses the room as Tony enters. He shakes Tony’s hand. ‘Please, have a seat.’ 

Samson’s office is spacious, but sparsely decorated. There’s a couch and a table, a couple chairs and bookshelves and a desk in the corner. The walls are a clinical white and the few paintings hanging up are all of fruit or some abstract crap. All in all, if Tony had ever had to guess what a psychiatrist’s office looked like, this would have been exactly it. Tony takes a seat on the couch. Samson fetches his notes then sits in the armchair opposite. ‘Alright Mr Stark -’

‘Please, call me Tony. Mr Stark is so formal.’

‘And you can call me Leonard.’

‘I think I’ll stick to Doc, Doc.’

‘Whatever your feel most comfortable with.’

Tony raises an eyebrow. ‘So if I wanted to call you Buttmonkey that would be okay?’

Samson knits his fingers and smiles. ‘If it makes you feel more comfortable.’ It’s dry and sardonic. Tony chuckles. Under different circumstances, he could like Samson. But not now. He’s there for a reason and much as it’s appealing to exchange banter and avoid the matter at hand, putting off the inevitable is just wasting both of their time.

‘So Buttmonkey, where do we start?’

‘Well, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’

Tony glares. ‘You know perfectly well why I’m here.’

‘Nonetheless, it would be helpful to hear it in your own words.’

Tony sighs. If he’s going to do this, he might as well just do it. ‘I had sex with an alien and now I freak our every time I see Steve.’ It’s easier to just be blunt about these things.

‘Alright then, and what do you hope our sessions will achieve?’

‘I want to stop freaking out every time I see Steve.’

Samson nods. ‘I believe the first thing we need to consider in order to accomplish that goal, is what it is about seeing Captain Rogers that you find so distressing.’ 

‘That’s a statement, not a question.’ Well, no one ever said he had to make this easy.

Samson makes a note. Tony taps a finger on the arm of the chair. ‘Why do you think seeing Captain Rogers makes you uncomfortable?’

Tony shrugs but remains silent.

‘Before you discovered the deception, how would you describe your relationship with Steve?’

Tony fidgets. He shrugs.

‘I can see this isn’t working for you, Tony.’ Samson crosses his legs. The only way he could get any more psychiatrist-y would be if he stroked his chin and looked thoughtfully off into the distance. And maybe if he ditched the green hair. ‘I’m going to ask you a very direct question now. If you don’t feel comfortable answering it, that’s fine, but I want you to give it some very serious consideration either way.’ Tony bites his lip, but nods. ‘What the Skrull did to you, do you consider it to be rape?’

Tony is taken completely off guard. Whatever he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. Dumbfounded, he stutters out a disbelieving, ‘What?’

‘Do you believe you were raped?’ Samson repeats patiently.

‘I… don’t understand.’ And he really doesn’t. It’s totally incomprehensible logic - a leap that makes about as much sense as asking him if he’d ever considered the possibility that the moon really might be made out of cheese. ‘I consented.’

‘Did you believe the man you were having sex with was Steve Rogers?’

It feels like some sort of trap; Samson already knows the answer. Nonetheless, Tony decides that if he’s wasting his time with this, he might as well give Samson what he’s after, so he answers truthfully. ‘Yes.’

‘Would you have agreed to have sex with him if you had known the truth?’

It’s possibly the stupidest question Tony has ever heard and he’s sorely tempted to call Samson an utter moron, but he knows better and Samson is looking at him expectantly. He pushes back the temptation to snap a snarky answer. ‘Of course not.’

‘So if you were not aware of what you were consenting to and you would not have given consent if you were, do you believe it was possible for you to give consent?’

Tony is blindsided. It’s stupid, he realises, all Samson did was repeat his answers to him, but somehow, when Samson says it, it sounds so stupid that it makes him feel a creeping sensation of doubt - forces him to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe… and that is so, so wrong because he was not raped, goddammit. He wasn’t. ‘I wasn’t raped.’ And yes, he’s aware that he’s avoiding the question, but who gives a fuck?

‘Alright.’ Samson nods but Tony gets the vague feeling that Samson’s just humouring him. It’s probably just his paranoia though because Samson’s tone and expression are completely neutral.

‘I wasn’t.’ He feels the need to repeat himself. Just to make it clear. To Samson.

‘What do you believe it was then?’ And that’s just the question isn’t it? 

‘Sex,’ he says. Because it’s true, it was sex, even if he’s not sure what the hell else it was. ‘Disturbing,’ he adds and he’s not quite sure why he says it, he doesn’t really mean to, but it just kind of feels right.

Samson hums in that ‘psychiatrist thinking’ sort of way and makes a note. Tony twitches. ‘How do you mean?’ Samson asks.

‘I… don’t know.’

‘At what point did you begin to feel disturbed?’

‘When do you think!’ He snaps before he realises it’s not true. 

‘I don’t know, Tony, that’s why I asked.’

Tony bites his lip. He realises now, he was disturbed way before he found out that Steve wasn’t Steve at all, but admitting that would mean admitting what Not-Steve did to disturb him - mean talking about the things he’d done with Not-Steve, the things he let Not-Steve do to him. He’s not sure he’s ready to talk about that.

In some omnipotent psychiatrist way, Samson seems to know exactly what Tony’s thinking. Or maybe it’s just the unnaturally long pause that gives him away. ‘You don’t have to answer if it makes you feel uncomfortable, Tony.’

Which just makes it all the more difficult. Admitting that he doesn’t want to answer is like admitting defeat. And Tony’s never been good at that. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists. ‘Whatever.’

‘Alright then.’ Samson writes something in his notes. Tony begins tapping out a tuneless beat on the arm of the chair. ‘So when Captain Rogers first propositioned you, how did you react?’

Tony hesitates at the change of subject. Somehow, he hadn’t thought it would be that easy. ‘I was happy. I was so fucking happy.’

‘And what about as the relationship progressed?’

‘I… don’t understand.’ He seems to be saying that a lot lately.

‘You say you were happy when Captain Rogers first propositioned you, did you continue to feel the same as your relationship progressed?’

‘Mostly.’

‘Mostly?’

‘There were ups and downs.’

‘Could you talk me through some of the downs?’

Tony pauses. ‘I don’t see how this is relevant.’

‘Well, I believe that in order to explore how you feel about your current relationship with Captain Rogers -’

‘We have no current relationship.’

‘You no longer consider Captain Rogers a friend?’

Tony shifts in his seat. ‘I didn’t mean that!’

‘Then what did you mean?’

‘I can’t be in the same room as him without freaking out.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

Because he feels ashamed. Because Steve must hate him. Because seeing Steve reminds him that he can never have anything good for very long. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, because he can’t possibly admit any of that.

‘Then perhaps that’s what we need to figure out.’

\-- 

That night he drinks. Drinks like he hasn’t in a long time. Not since the Avengers formed. He drinks until he can’t remember how much he’s drunk. He drinks to try and forget why he’s drinking. He drinks because he thinks it will make him feel better. It doesn’t.

When he’s just a little bit out of his mind. When his legs shake as he tries to stand and he stumbles as he tries to walk. He gets angry. A rage like nothing he’s felt before builds up inside him and demands to be released. He thinks that it must be what the Hulk feels like every day. He throws the empty whiskey bottle at the wall, just because he can. It’s stupid and pointless and it feels damn good. But it’s not enough.

He staggers to the kitchen, planning on finding another bottle of whiskey. But there’s a steak knife in the sink. He’s just drunk enough to get ideas. The Wakandan people say there’s blurring between revenge and avenge, right? Surely, it’s not wrong if he has a good reason to be angry. But he’s not that far gone. He’s a superhero and superheroes don’t do that kind of thing, even if it’s well deserved.

He ignores the knife in favour of the whiskey. He sits and stares at the sink as he downs a glass. Then another. By the third, his hand is shaking so much that he can’t get it in the glass. He growls in frustration as it sloshes over the table and down his leg, everywhere but in the glass.

He throws the glass at the wall, because it made him feel better last time. He takes a swig straight from the bottle this time. God, he’s so pathetic. A pitiful drunk and a desperate slut with delusions of heroism. He staggers across the room and picks up the steak knife. He’s never been a very good person anyway.

He stumbles his way to the elevator and down to 42. He finds the cell and stands there collecting his thoughts. The Skrull ignores him. ‘Why did you do it?’ It’s more difficult to keep the words straight than it should be. He’s probably slurring. ‘Did you think you’d get something out of me?’

The Skrull shoots him a lazy, half-lidded look. It just shrugs. ‘It was fun. Espionage is a boring job, needed to do something to pass the time.’

‘That’s it? You were laughing at me?’ Tony’s hand locks so tight around the knife hilt that it hurts - but it’s good, it keeps his mind focused. Pain helps sober him up.

The Skrull shrugs again. ‘The sex was good.’

Tony takes one step forward then freezes. ‘I’m going to fucking castrate you.’ He holds the knife up where the Skrull can see it, but otherwise doesn’t move. 

The Skrull tilts its head to the side and laughs. It fucking laughs. ‘You can’t do that. You’re a good guy.’

‘I hate you,’ Tony says without inflection.

The Skrull sticks two fingers in its mouth and sucks suggestively for a moment before flicking them out with a little pop. ‘That’s not what you were saying before,’ it taunts as it wipes a string of saliva from its chin.

Tony’s not exactly sure what happens next; his mind goes hazy with rage. He’s aware of dropping the knife, inputting his security override code and charging at the Skrull, but the next things he knows two arms are wrapped firmly around his stomach holding him tightly as he struggles and the Skrull is lying bleeding and laughing on the floor. ‘What a pathetic specimen of humanity you are.’ It spits a globule of bloody saliva at Tony that hits him right in the face. ‘But at least you’re a good fuck.’ The arms holding Tony drag him out of the cell thrashing violently and screaming obscenities.

When whoever’s holding him finally lets go, he falls to his knees and starts sobbing, because he doesn’t care anymore. He just doesn’t care. He can’t possibly get any more pathetic than he already is, so what’s the point in hiding it. Someone pulls him to his feet and into a hug. And he knows that chest he’s sobbing into. He knows those arms clutching him. He knows that faintly musky smell of citrus shampoo, post-workout sweat and something else that’s wholly Steve.

He should let go. He should stop. This isn’t right. It’s not fair to hold this Steve like he’s anything more than a friend, a teammate. But he can’t help himself. Just for a minute, he lets himself pretend. As he trembles and sobs, Steve scoops him up in his arms, like a perverse parody of a bride on her wedding day. Tony curls up, wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and pretends that he’s injured or sick and this is his Steve taking care of him. Pretends that he’s not in the middle of a drunken breakdown. Pretends that the heavy silence is instead filled with Steve whispering reassurances. He falls asleep before they reach his bedroom.

\--

He wakes up in his bed with a pounding headache and only vague memories of the night before. Though he knows he has even more reason to be mortified around Steve now and another reminder of what a horrible person he is. God, he’s such an idiot.

He has Jarvis check that the halls and kitchen are clear and takes plenty of food with him to the lab this time so he won’t have to leave until it’s time for his next appointment with Samson. 

The first thing he does is fix the problem, he makes sure he can never screw up that badly again. The second thing he does is start designing a new engine for a prototype sports car. He’s working on it when Jarvis interrupts him. ‘Dr Pym is at the door to see you, sir. Shall I let him in?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. Hank has his own labs, but sometimes he needs to borrow tools or parts and that’s the only reason Tony lets him in.

‘Hey Tony,’ the almost apologetic tone to Hank’s voice tells Tony this probably isn’t about borrowing spare parts. ‘Can I have a word with you?’

‘Unless it’s concerning the new security protocols for 42, I’d prefer if you didn’t.’ Tony had spent the last few hours installing new scanners for 42, the purposed of which was primarily to deny access to anyone who was drunk, high or had otherwise temporarily lost their inhibitions. Hank didn’t have to know that though. ‘But you’re not going to listen to me, so I don’t know why you bothered phrasing that as a question.’

Hank takes a seat next to Tony. ‘Everyone’s concerned. You’ve barely left you lab since….’ Hank stutters to a stop, pauses then starts again. ‘You’ve been down here for nearly two weeks. Jan’s out of her mind with worry, Thor thinks he made things worse, Steve is -’

‘No. Just, no.’ Why does everyone need to _talk_ about it? Isn’t it enough that he’s seeing a psychiatrist? And, okay he has no plans to tell Hank that, but, he shouldn’t be bugging him about this anyway. He will absolutely not talk about Steve. He will not even think about Steve. He has a good thing going here. Not thinking about Steve makes his life so much easier, and is surprisingly simple to do, as long as he’s alone and busy working.

‘Okay,’ says Hank. ‘Sorry. Just, please, come up to the mansion and spend some time with me and Jan or Clint and Thor, if you’d prefer. Just get away from the lab for a bit.’

Tony shakes his head. It sounds nice, and really he’d like too, but Tony’s not going to push Steve out of his home because he’s too much of a coward to face the prospect of seeing him. If that means staying out of the way until he’s not feeling like such a coward, that’s just a sacrifice he’ll have to make. ‘I’m really busy, Hank. This is important.’

Hank glances over his shoulder at the schematics on the screen. ‘You’re designing a car, Tony.’

Tony glares and opens a screensaver. ‘Among other things.’

‘We’re your friends, Tony. We want to help you. Please don’t shut us out.’

Tony swallows heavily and fiddles with a pencil. ‘I’m not. I just… I have work to do. I’ll take you and Jan out for dinner sometime, okay?’ The thought of going out makes his stomach roll but it’s Hank and it’s Jan and there are a couple of low-key restaurants he likes that he never got around to taking Not-Steve to, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Hank seems pleased with the idea anyway. ‘Alright, Tony. Just take care of yourself, okay?’ Tony nods. Hank finally leaves.

He doesn’t see anyone again until his next session with Samson.

He doesn’t tell Samson about what happened after last time. He’s ashamed. No, he’s completely mortified. What kind of person must he be to get drunk, beat and threaten a prisoner then fall asleep sobbing in Captain America’s arms? Tony fucking Stark, that’s what kind of person. He’s fixed the problem now anyway. No more drunken access to 42, so no one needs to know about it.

He lets Samson do the talking at first, answering mostly with shrugs and single words.

‘Tony, is something bothering you?’ Samson asks after that goes on for a while.

‘I still have the tape,’ Tony blurts out because it’s better than telling the truth. It’s been bothering him since the whole mess began anyway and maybe, if Samson’s good for nothing else, he’ll know what to do with it.

Samson cocks his head. ‘What tape?’

‘The first time we…’ Tony stiffens, wrings his hands and stares at the ceiling. Who’d have thought Tony Stark was physically capable of being coy. Fuck it, he will not let this control him. ‘The first time we had sex it was in the training room.’ There. If he can say that without flinching clearly he’s alright. ‘There are security cameras. I thought it would be…’ Hot. He thought it would be hot. ‘Nice. To keep it, I mean.’

‘And you still have it?’ Tony nods. ‘Why?’ There’s no disapproving tone in Samson’s voice, he’d not being judgemental, just inquiring, but Tony still hesitates.

‘I don’t know what to do with it.’

‘Well, what are the options?’

‘Destroy it,’ Tony says flatly.

‘Why haven’t you?’

‘What if Steve wants to know?’

‘Wants to know what?’

‘What I did to him.’

‘What you did to him?’

Tony shuffles in his chair and picks at dirt beneath his fingernails to avoid looking at Samson. He bites the inside of his cheek. ‘I… made him have sex with me.’

Samson frowns. ‘I’m sorry, Tony, I’m not sure I follow.’

‘I violated him.’ 

‘What do you mean?’

Tony goes ridged and looks Samson in the eye. He shouldn’t have to explain this, but Samson’s just not getting it. ‘I had a whole relationship going; I had everyone thinking he’s, you know, gay. And if that’s not fucked up enough I had sex with him. I fucked with Captain America.’ Tony laughs bitterly. ‘He feels disgusted.’

Samson looked at him questioningly. ‘He told you that?’

‘Well, not in so many words, but I think it goes without saying. I mean, it’s like if you went to the hospital and the doctor dosed you up, and you were so out of it you didn’t remember any of it but you knew something had happened. It’s like that. Steve doesn’t remember it, but he knows we had sex and he never wanted that. So it’s like that and that… that’s rape.’

‘Your example is, yes,’ Samson says slowly, ‘but the circumstances are very different, Tony.’

Tony scowls. ‘How so?’

‘In your example there is a perpetrator and a victim - the doctor knows what he or she is doing and knows that the patient would not agree to it. You had consensual sex with a man you were in a relationship with. You’re an intelligent man, Tony, I’m sure you can see the logical fallacy behind your example.’

There’s a long pause. ‘Okay,’ Tony says eventually. ‘So my analogy sucks, doesn’t change the fact that I had sex with,’ he makes finger quotations, ‘”Steve”, that the real Steve never would have agreed to.’

‘Sex which you admit you wouldn’t have agreed to had you known the truth.’ 

‘Just because I didn’t know I was doing it doesn’t mean it’s not my fault.’

Samson makes a note. Tony squeezes the arm of the couch. ‘What could you have done differently?’

Tony rolls his eyes. ‘Not had sex with him.’

‘That would have meant turning down a proposition from Captain Rogers. Why might you have done that?’ 

‘Because it _wasn’t_ Steve fucking Rogers!’ He slams his hand on the couch arm and looks Samson directly in the eye. 

Samson doesn’t flinch or look away. ‘You didn’t know that at the time,’ he says. Tony stays silent. ‘As far as you were aware, you had been propositioned by Steve Rogers. Why, given the knowledge you lacked at the time, might you have turned him down?’

Tony can’t think of a single good reason. ‘Because relationships between teammates are never a good idea.’ It sounds weak even to him.

‘Why is that?’

Tony hesitates. If he’s honest he’s only doing this because admitting he might be wrong feels like admitting defeat. ‘If things go badly it can ruin a team.’

‘Dr Pym and Ms Van Dyne are in a relationship, correct?’

Tony glares. ‘Yes,’ he admits through gritted teeth.

‘Do you believe their relationship is ill advised?’

But that’s different. Tony’s fucked up every relationship he’s ever had. He should have known better. ‘That’s different,’ he says.

‘How so?’

‘It is, okay? It just is.’ He sounds like a petulant child, he realises, but he can’t think of a better way to explain it. He should have known better, but Samson just doesn’t seem to get that.

Samson hums and makes another note. There’s a brief pause. ‘Have you spoken to Captain Rogers about this at all?’

‘No. How the hell am I supposed to? Just go up and say “hey you know how I was fucking your impersonator? How does that make you _feel_?” I’m not the fucking psychiatrist.’

‘With your permission I would like to speak to Captain Rogers before our next session. And perhaps, if you and he are both ready, I can invite him to one of our sessions.’

Tony bites his bottom lip. ‘Is that necessary?’

‘I believe so, yes, but not if you don’t feel ready.’

‘Isn’t there some sort of… confidentiality thing with you psychiatrists?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I won’t be discussing anything you’ve told me with him. But I do feel it would be best if I assess the situation more thoroughly before we peruse a meeting and in order to do that I must speak to Captain Rogers.’

Tony waves a dismissive hand. ‘Whatever.’ He feels sick at the thought but he’s been living with a constant low-level nausea now for… actually he isn’t sure how long it’s been. He’s finding out just how difficult it is to keep track of time when you barely see daylight, barely sleep and eat with no regularity.

‘Alright then. I’ll speak to Captain Rogers as soon as possible, but don’t worry, I won’t invite him to a session without discussing it with you first and not until you feel ready. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we finish for today?’

‘No.’

‘Alright then. I’ll see you on Thursday.’ 

‘Right. Thursday.’ 

\--

He has three more sessions before he agrees to speak with Steve. He drinks before their meeting. Just a glass, he tells himself. Just to steady his nerves. A glass turns into two and three. He’s not drunk, he’s just a little shaky on his feet and maybe a little lightheaded. It’s just enough to hold the panic at bay when he steps inside Samson’s office and sees Steve sitting in one of the armchairs (he wonders idly if Samson told him to avoid the couch, because that’s Tony’s spot and the thought of sitting elsewhere is unsettling).

It’s his own fault really, that Steve’s already there. Samson had told him to come early. If he hadn’t stopped to drink... But it doesn’t matter now. ‘Samson,’ he greets a he takes his seat on the couch. He ignores Steve. Steve says nothing but he sits completely still, hands clasping the arms of the chair hard enough that Tony can see it beginning to splinter.

‘Tony,’ says Samson, ‘I believe you have something to say to Steve.’ They’d discussed this in their last session.

Tony looks directly at Steve, because even though it makes his stomach twist up, he knows there’s no point doing this if he doesn’t make absolutely sure that Steve knows he’s being genuine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

Steve’s eye’s flicker with shock. Tony apologising is a once in blue moon type of thing, but he does know when he needs to and it hurts, just a little, that Steve’s surprised by that. ‘You have nothing -’ But Samson clears his throat and gives Steve a stern look. Obviously he’d told Steve not to interrupt. Tony’s grateful.

‘I’m sorry I thought there could ever be something between us. I’m sorry I’ve dumped all this on you. I’m sorry I’ve turned you into something you never asked to be. I wish I could tell you that I don’t feel something for you, that I’m happy for us to just be friends. I know you’re from the forties, so you probably think it’s sick and disgusting and maybe you’ll never want to speak to me again, but I can’t pretend…’ His voice cracks over the words and he breaks eye contact for the first time. ‘I can’t pretend I don’t feel _that_ way about you.’ Because he can't bring himself to say the word love, when he already knows it's never going to happen.

‘Tony.’ He hears Steve get to his feet. ‘I don’t think it’s disgusting or wrong.’ He sees Steve’s shoes in front of his own but he still can’t look up. ‘I care about you a lot, Tony. I don’t know if I’m comfortable taking our relationship in that direction, at least not at the moment, but I care about you Tony and this - this thing, it could never change that.’ Steve puts a hand on Tony shoulder and despite the kind words Tony instinctively clenches up.

‘I can’t do this,’ he says. Steve’s touching him and it’s sending spikes of fear through his gut and that’s completely irrational. ‘I thought I could do this, but I can’t.’ He can feel uncontrollable panic rising, his fingers are tingling and his breath is quickening. He doesn’t even know why he’s panicking and that makes the panic worse. His vision goes hazy and sounds start to blur together. At some point Steve’s hand is removed from his shoulder.

‘Breathe, Tony, breathe. Steve’s gone, it’s just us now.’ Tony breathes. It takes him a minute to even out his breathing and another minute to stop his hands shaking. 

When he feels almost human again, he runs his hands through his hair and pulls. ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?!’ He kicks the table.

‘Perhaps you just weren’t ready for this yet.’

Tony puts his head in his hands. ‘I thought I was.’

‘You were doing well, Tony. What do you think caused the panic attack?’

Tony rolls his eyes. ‘You were sitting right there. He touched me.’

‘Why do you think that set off the attack?’

‘I… I don’t know, okay! I don’t know.’ And he’s not just being difficult this time, not just avoiding the answer, he’s genuinely confused and a little frightened.

‘Is it possible your current issues with Steve stem from the issues you had in your relationship with the Skrull?’

‘What do you mean? There were no issues… before.’ Except for everything he’d never told Samson about. At least, not directly. Maybe, he supposes, Samson had skirted around the issue, but they’d never outright confronted it. Tony would never allow it.

‘So you believe your relationship was healthy?’

Tony throws up his hands. ‘Jesus, I don’t know.’

‘If you had been looking at your relationship from an outsider’s perspective, how would you have viewed it?’

He thinks about the harsh words, the pushy sex, the general aggression and the sick feeling he got every time Not-Steve was close to him. He thinks about Jan and T’Challa’s words. He thinks about the panic he felt just moments ago when Steve touched him. Did he think Steve was going to hurt him? Fuck, he actually did. ‘Unhealthy,’ he says and he finally let’s himself believe it’s true. For half a second he could swear he sees relief in Samson’s eyes before they flick back to neutral.

\--

It’s not some miracle cure, but it is a turning point. Once he can admit, not only to Samson, but to himself, that his relationship with Not-Steve was unhealthy for more reasons than the obvious, Samson can finally start to help him. And he does. It takes a while, many more sessions and a lot of time thinking, but slowly he gets more comfortable around Steve and slowly, he starts to leave the lab more often.

‘Hi Tony,’ Jan says tentatively when she sees him milling about the mansion for the first time in a long while.

Tony nods. ‘Jan.’ He pauses, thinking for a moment. ‘Hank tell you about that dinner invite?’

Jan smiles and nods. ‘Is that an offer?’

‘Sure.’

Jan pauses. ‘So,’ she says hesitantly, ‘is everything alright now?’

Tony smiles. His smug, casual, nonchalant smile. His for-the-press smile. ‘Everything’s fine, Jan. Everything’s fine.’ It’s not really, but maybe, after a while, it can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a psychiatrist. My knowledge of psychology is rudimentary and not applicable to this situation. I thought a lot about how to handle that aspect of the story, but if anything strikes someone more knowledgeable as ‘a good psychiatrist would never say/do that’ feel free to point it out.


End file.
